


bedroom fireplace

by bobaisbest



Series: new me, same us [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobaisbest/pseuds/bobaisbest
Summary: They don’t talk about it. They never talk about it.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Series: new me, same us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864150
Comments: 87
Kudos: 440





	bedroom fireplace

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [bedroom fireplace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27334738) by [yeeet (openyourrice)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/openyourrice/pseuds/yeeet)



> warning: mentions of drinking, smoking, and drug use. if that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!

Taeyong lets Doyoung fuck him against the dining table. This is how they do most of their fucking these days, against hard surfaces that leave scathing bruises on Taeyong’s body. He’ll complain about the black and blue tomorrow, when the sun has risen and makes his shame a reality, but right now, it doesn’t matter. It never does.

“I’m going to come,” he says, the warning swallowed by a moan as Doyoung continues to rail him against the mahogany, expensive and sturdy and a fucking pain on Taeyong’s back.

“Then come,” Doyoung says, his brow furrowed as sweat gathers on his temples, trickling down to the valley of his sharp collarbones. He sounds annoyed, like fucking Taeyong is a chore. Like he isn’t trying his hardest to make Taeyong see fucking stars right now. What a goddamn hypocrite.

Doyoung grabs the back of Taeyong’s thigh and hikes it up until his ankle rests over Doyoung’s shoulder. The angle reaches deeper now and Taeyong’s eyes flutter shut, his heart stuttering in his chest. A hand snakes down his chest, fisting his cock none too gently, and Taeyong can’t help but cry out when Doyoung thumbs over his slit.

The orgasm hits him almost forcefully, hard and fast like the way Doyoung fucks into him. It splatters all over his chest and a little onto the dining table and Taeyong suddenly thinks that it’s a good thing he never has people over.

Doyoung doesn’t stop, because Taeyong always said he didn’t feel uncomfortable so Doyoung stopped asking. He props himself up on his elbows, sensitive but too tired to do anything else but watch Doyoung chase after his own pleasure as he grows closer to the edge.

“Baby, I’m close,” he groans, the pet name slipping past his lips unnoticed.

Doyoung comes inside, with nothing between them, because it’s not like they’re fucking other people anyways. He stays there for a moment, reveling in the afterglow while catching his breath. Then he pulls out, ignoring Taeyong’s whimper as he looks for his underwear.

Taeyong, sweaty and naked, watches Doyoung pick up his clothes and put them on with practiced efficiency. His long fingers nimbly button his shirt and Taeyong can’t help but feel like a whore, slumped back on full display while Doyoung makes himself decent again. There’s a sticky trail running down the inside of his thigh and Taeyong kind of wants to run a finger through it, bring it to his mouth and suckle, just to see what Doyoung would do. But he decides against it because neither of them are really in the mood to play.

Doyoung leaves without saying goodbye. He doesn’t help clean up either, but that’s okay because it makes all of this easier when he doesn’t bother to stay longer than he should. He shrugs on his blazer, collects his phone, and walks out the front door like he’s done probably a thousand times by now.

Taeyong gathers himself up on shaky legs and throws his clothes in the wash. Then he spends the next fifteen minutes meticulously disinfecting the dining table, although he’s not quite sure why he’s spending so much effort because it’s not like he ever eats here anyways. He should honestly just sell this table, but then Doyoung would have to fuck him against the marble countertops and Taeyong’s spine would probably break.

The sun bleeds out just a little from the horizon, letting the city outside slowly wake up. But it’s Saturday and Taeyong has nowhere to be until nighttime. He climbs into bed exhausted and pleasantly sore. And then he falls asleep before he has to make himself face the bitter truth.

Sex with Doyoung has gotten so much better after they broke up.

  
  
  


Taeyong remembers the first time Doyoung did a line of coke. He remembers because he was there and when they asked him to try, he did one too.

They were in Sehun’s penthouse condo, nestled at the top of some expensive Manhattan building where rent was probably through the fucking roof. People at this party were older, well-dressed and chattering behind glasses of expensive alcohol. Gone was the familiarity of house parties, drinking vodka that cost fifteen dollars a handle with the friends you’ve known since freshmen orientation. This was the city after all, big and intricate and more than ready to devour a pair of twenty-three year olds fresh out of college.

Taeyong was uneasy back then, barely making ends meet while working as the assistant for an exhibition designer at the MoMA. The crowd made him nervous, though Doyoung seemed to fit right in. He worked his way around the room, introducing himself smoothly and shaking hands attached to wrists that wore heavy, gold watches. Taeyong trailed behind, smiling and speaking when appropriate.

Sometimes, he wonders if Doyoung only brought him to that party because Taeyong looked good next to him. Because Taeyong could hang off his arm and be pretty. He had worn his best shirt that night, the silk one from Gucci that Doyoung bought him with money from his first paycheck, and he had caught the gaze of more than one person eyeing him up and down like a snack. But at the time, Taeyong stamped out the thought because while Doyoung could be cruel, Doyoung was not cruel to him. Never to him.

Even as the alcohol loosened him up, Taeyong always made sure to watch Doyoung from the corner of his eye, tethered like an invisible leash, which is why he remembers the exact moment Doyoung walked into the bedroom. Taeyong had put down his whiskey, politely excused himself from whatever conversation he was having, and headed there too.

Sehun made crazy fucking money, Taeyong could that tell that much the moment the taxi dropped them off at the curb. His bedroom was enormous, bigger than Taeyong’s entire studio apartment, and the air inside was so smoky that he nearly choked when he stepped in. They were sitting in a semi-circle around Sehun’s fireplace, which, at the time, seemed so odd to Taeyong. Who the hell had a fireplace in their bedroom?

But as odd as it was, Taeyong recalls the fireplace too clearly. How the light illuminated half of Doyoung’s face, the shadows making him look handsome when his ink black hair fell across his forehead as he bent down and snorted the line of blow through a small tube of paper. And then Doyoung handed him the tube, which Taeyong later realized was a neatly rolled hundred-dollar bill. The powder was sharp in the back of his nose, an unpleasant experience that he did not wish to repeat again.

The high did almost nothing for him. He remembers feeling jittery, like he drank eight cups of coffee, and he remembers deciding on the spot that this would be the last time he did something like this. Then the flames had flickered and most of all, Taeyong remembers Doyoung’s eyes, almost pitch black with his pupils dilated as fuck.

Doyoung’s eyes are dilated now too, almost fully blown as he steps into Jaehyun and Sicheng’s engagement party when dinner is already in full swing.

“Jesus Christ,” Taeyong mutters, helping him out of his coat. “Couldn’t even be sober for this?”

“I have to go to the office later,” Doyoung explains as he takes his shoes off. “Big acquisition deal. I need to stay awake.”

Taeyong sighs. “It’s a fucking Saturday.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Doyoung, I’m just saying—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not dating anymore, is it?” Doyoung spits back. “Otherwise, I’d actually have to listen to you.”

Inside his head, Taeyong forms a comment about how Doyoung never listened to him even when they were dating, but he decides against voicing it because Doyoung gets nasty very easily and Taeyong isn’t too keen on fighting someone in Jaehyun’s hallway.

“I guess,” he says, settling for rolling his eyes.

Doyoung smiles, because he’s low enough to count this as a win, even though Taeyong had basically let him have it. Then he plucks the glass of champagne from Taeyong’s hands and brings it to his lips.

“Thanks,” he grins, draining the flute and handing it back before leaving to greet the rest of their friends.

Taeyong resists the urge to smash the glass on the floor. While it would be greatly satisfying to see it shatter into a million tiny pieces, Sicheng would definitely kill him for ruining one of his precious crystalware and Taeyong isn’t too keen on pissing off anyone but Doyoung tonight.

-

They had agreed to keep it amicable because by the time they called it quits, their circles were too intertwined and it really wasn’t worth ruining any friendships over. Behind closed doors, they could fight and fuck as much as they wanted but with their friends, they had to behave. And now, three years later, Taeyong has to fake a smile as he sits next to Doyoung at the dinner table.

Taeil, who he hasn’t seen in nearly a month, sits straight across and Taeyong finds reprieve in catching up over friendly small talk. They’re discussing Taeil’s latest trip to Milan when suddenly, under the table, a hand comes to rest itself on Taeyong’s knee. It grips him tight before slowly traveling up his thigh, leaving behind a trail of searing warmth. It’s apparent that time may pass but Doyoung never fails to irritate the fuck out of Taeyong.

“Sun-dried tomatoes?” he says to Taeil, his smile tightening just the slightest. “That sounds wonderful. I’ll have to try it next time.”

Taeil simply beams in response. “You really do! Here, I have this no-knead focaccia recipe that you’ll definitely love, let me just send you the link…”

As Taeil busies himself with unlocking his phone, Taeyong steals a glance at Doyoung. He appears innocent enough, laughing at some stupid joke Jaehyun just made, but his grasp on Taeyong’s leg says otherwise. Taeyong’s eyes fly across the room for some sort of distraction, anything really, that will prevent him from reaching under the table and snapping Doyoung’s wrist. He briefly makes eye contact with Sicheng, who waves happily, and the ring on his finger flashes brightly under the lights.

It’s honestly a very beautiful ring. Jaehyun had done an amazing job picking it out. And Taeyong is happy for them, he really is. The thing is, he’d be even happier if Doyoung would get his fucking hand off Taeyong’s leg.

-

“Your place?” Doyoung says, almost stumbling as he puts on his shoes.

“I thought you had to go to the office?” Taeyong mutters, trying to keep it down because their friends are literally  _ right there.  _ Most of them know, have known for a while, but Taeyong would still like to do his best to keep this out of their sight.

“I do,” Doyoung confirms, finally making it out the door. He shuts it behind him as he quickly buttons his coat. “Your place is on the way to the office. We can make it fast.”

Taeyong nearly laughs and there’s sarcasm bubbling in the back of his throat.

“Glad I’m so conveniently located for you to have a quick fuck.”

Doyoung’s expression darkens.

“Well, you didn’t say no.”

And Taeyong doesn't have an answer to that.

  
  
  


It wasn’t always like this. They had been happy, once upon a time, quite long ago. But they were also stupid and naive, cobbling together pieces that they thought could take up their whole lives when really, it turned out to be a waste of their years.

Real life isn’t like that. Real life is edges and corners, smooth and jagged and unpredictable at the same time. In real life, the pieces don’t always fit. No matter how hard you try, no matter how much you want them to, the pieces don’t fit and sometimes, they won’t ever fit.

When they used to live together, Taeyong tried to go shopping every week, or at least on the days he managed to drag Doyoung away from his laptop. He liked walking outside, enjoying the weekend sunlight together as they stocked up on dry goods and wine at the bodega down the street. Then they would get sandwiches at Taeyong’s favorite Brooklyn deli and Doyoung would smile because seeing Taeyong so happy made him happy too.

It doesn’t bother Taeyong that he has to do this all by himself now. After all, it’s been like this for literal years. But some days, the loneliness weighs down just a little too heavy, like a dampness in his bones that never quite dries. It’s kind of sad, pushing around a shopping cart by himself. This is where Johnny comes in.

Johnny is perhaps the only person out of Sehun’s social circle who prefers Taeyong over Doyoung. Early in their friendship, it had been something funny to joke about. But deep down, Taeyong knows that Doyoung has always been envious. Not envious of Johnny, who had been spending so much time with Taeyong, but envious of Taeyong, because he got along so well with Johnny, who was someone that came from both old and new money and could have provided a whole world of connections that Doyoung would’ve been more than happy to sink his teeth into. It’s like he didn’t even care about who was occupying Taeyong’s time, his own fucking boyfriend, which just adds one more thing to the long list of reasons of why they decided to separate.

To Taeyong, Johnny has never been anything but an amazing friend. He isn’t exactly someone you’d picture when you think of a millionaire but Taeyong has long since accepted that Johnny is just one of those eccentric rich people who doesn’t like following the rules. Johnny also owns the art gallery, which means he’s technically Taeyong’s boss, but it’s hard to establish any sort of professional hierarchy when Johnny is already privy to every dirty secret that Taeyong tells him during their weekly food runs.

“Why do I feel like you guys have more sex now than you did at the committed relationship stage?”

Johnny asks this through a mouthful of egg salad sandwich and Taeyong has to wait for him to finish chewing in order to fully understand the question.

“I don’t know,” Taeyong replies, shrugging as he unwraps his own toasted bagel. “He just comes by a lot. We don’t really talk. I barely know him anymore.”

“Sure you do,” Johnny disagrees. “Like, uh, what are his—” he thinks for a moment, “—favorite hobbies?”

“Doyoung’s favorite hobby? I don’t know,” Taeyong mumbles. “Probably doing lines in the VIP room at Nobu.”

Johnny snorts. “I guess that’s high up on the list. Right next to fucking your brains out.”

“Shut up,” Taeyong says, shamefully hiding behind his sandwich.

Johnny, who tends to inhale his meals, shoves the last of his own sandwich into his mouth. He’s barely swallowed before he decides to start speaking again.

“But I’ve always been curious,” he says, bits of bread spraying out of his mouth, and Taeyong offhandedly thinks that it’s a good thing Johnny is both rich and hot because he has absolutely no tact. “Doyoung’s friends, or his co-workers, I guess. You’ve seen the people they hang out with. The girls they take to clubs. Don’t you ever get worried?”

Taeyong wants to scoff. Doyoung doesn’t fuck girls anymore. He fucks pretty boys, namely Taeyong, but that doesn’t mean Taeyong can’t still be insecure. Of course he gets worried. It’s Doyoung, who monopolized the last six years of his fucking life. There’s probably always going to be a part of Taeyong that worries about Doyoung, which is quite unfortunate all on its own.

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Taeyong mutters instead. “He can do what he wants.”

“That’s a good answer,” Johnny says. “And you know it works the other way around too, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re also allowed to do whatever you want.”

“I guess??” Taeyong says, tossing out the last of his bagel. This conversation is honestly making him lose his appetite. “I don’t really do much though, so it’s not like Doyoung is holding me back from anything.”

Johnny just shrugs. “Ok, I guess that’s good enough.”

And then he stops in the middle of the sidewalk, so Taeyong stops too, looking up at him inquisitively.

“Hey man, what’s up?”

Johnny looks at him seriously.

“Taeyong,” he says. “I’m going to tell you something important. Just promise me you won’t freak out.”

Taeyong scrunches his brow in response. “Johnny, what is it?”

“Just promise me you won’t freak out.”

“I’m already freaking out, just tell me!”

“I’m opening a gallery in Anaheim,” Johnny finally says. “And I want to sign you on as the director.”

Taeyong is so taken aback that he takes nearly a full minute to respond.

“I— what? Anaheim?”

“You don’t have to decide now,” Johnny says. “This isn’t happening for at least a couple more months. I just wanted you to know now. So you have time to make a decision.”

Taeyong nods, too stunned to respond quickly. When he invited Johnny out for lunch today, he expected the usual — meaningless life updates with just a sprinkle of gossip. Johnny, who gets along unexpectedly well with Jaehyun, had been unable to make it to the engagement party. Taeyong assumed that his only job today would be to update him on everything that transpired that night, including Doyoung's infuriating antics. What he did not expect was to receive a job offer that would almost double his current salary. Given, of course, that he was willing to move across the country.

“Um, thank you,” he manages. “This is a really great opportunity. Johnny, I really don’t know what to say—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Johnny smiles. “Just think about it seriously, okay? And even if you say no, it’s fine. I don’t plan on closing the New York location anytime soon.”

Above them, the day shines golden in the cloudless sky. Soon, it will turn into summer, with the nights growing warmer and the sun growing stronger. Doyoung always hated summer. He liked to complain about the excessive heat and how bright it became during midday. Doyoung would absolutely hate a place like California.

“Okay,” Taeyong says. “I’ll think about it.”

  
  
  


Jaehyun’s bachelor party is scheduled for mid-June, when the rooftop bars are all open and city nightlife is out in full force. Taeyong is five drinks in by the time Doyoung shows up, late as usual and still wearing his work suit. His eyes are bloodshot, pulse rocketing at a hundred miles per hour, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s high off of more than one substance.

“Hey, dude. You made it,” Jaehyun says, holding out a shot of Patron. "Are you— um, are you good to drink?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Doyoung says, taking the glass. “Don’t worry about me, this is nothing.”

And then he downs the tequila like it’s water. Taeyong, for some odd reason, is beginning to feel very irritated at his reckless behavior. Usually, he wouldn’t care. It’s Doyoung’s life, after all. He can do what he wants. One of the benefits of breaking up was that Taeyong didn’t have to give a fuck about shit like this anymore.

But this is Jaehyun’s bachelor party, for fuck’s sake. Their friend is getting married and they’re out here for a celebration, not another opportunity for Doyoung to get absolutely fucked up. And what irritates him even more is that at the end of the night, Doyoung is going to ask to come over. And Taeyong will probably be drunk enough to say yes.

By midnight, they hit the second club. The lights here are darker, the music played louder, and through a haze, Taeyong realizes that it’s the perfect breeding ground for exacerbating whatever problem he already has with Doyoung right now.

He immediately saunters off to the bar, because there’s no way he can deal with this without another drink in his hand. He’s waiting in line when someone slides up next to him, a sleek credit card held between their fingers.

“My name is Baekhyun,” the guy says. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Taeyong would normally turn him away. He doesn’t do one-night-stands. He doesn’t pick up people at nightclubs. He likes to go home and monogamously fuck one person, which is behavior he’s pathetically consistent with, even after breaking up with Doyoung.

But tonight is different. Tonight, Taeyong is wearing his favorite shirt, the silk one from Gucci. He knows how much Doyoung likes taking it off of him. And tonight, he decides that he’ll deny Doyoung that privilege.

“Sure,” he says, smiling in a way that he knows makes him look pretty. “I’m Taeyong.”

“Taeyong, huh?” Baekhyun says. “That’s a nice name. Are you seeing anyone right now?”

Taeyong just shrugs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Not really,” he says. “Just an ex-boyfriend.”

Baekhyun eyes him up and down as if the fact that Taeyong still fucks his ex is equivalent to the words  _ FOR SALE _ written on his forehead in big red letters. But the opinions of people like Baekhyun don’t really matter to Taeyong. What matters is that Doyoung, sitting two tables away, is watching them closely. When Baekhyun asks if he wants to leave, Taeyong finds himself saying yes.

He says yes for a lot of reasons. He says yes because he’s in the mood. He says yes because Baekhyun is hot and looking for the same thing he is, something quick and casual and as insignificant as a forgotten phone conversation. He says yes because this is convenient and Taeyong likes convenient.

He also says yes because he wants to forget. Over the years, he grew so accustomed to the touch of one person and he wants to scrub the scent clean. Doyoung’s fingers are still imprinted on his throat, even after the bruises have long healed, but at least this can give Taeyong new bruises somewhere else.

He says yes to Baekhyun for all these reasons but mostly, he says yes because he’s mad. He’s mad at Doyoung and he’s annoyed at himself for being mad and above all, he wants it to hurt. To hurt like it did back in the day, when heartbreak was fresh and meant the end of the world instead of some overplayed radio song. Like when they broke up and Taeyong screamed from the pain, their open wounds cut from wire not teeth.

He wants to hurt Doyoung in the worst way. But to do that, he needs to hurt himself first.

Everyone is sloshed enough that they don’t notice when Taeyong slips away from the party. Well, everyone except Doyoung. Taeyong can practically feel his eyes burning two holes in his back as he leaves with Baekhyun’s hand around his waist.

The sex is fine. Baekhyun takes off his shirt, fucks him into the sheets, and even helps him clean up afterwards. And then the next day, he leaves Taeyong’s apartment without so much as asking for a phone number.

The next time their friends gather for brunch, Doyoung purposely sits far away and refuses to look him in the eye. He doesn’t text or ask to come over and for a little bit, just a little bit, Taeyong thinks it was worth it just to piss him off.

Two weeks later, Doyoung is back in Taeyong’s apartment, shoving him against the dining table as he fucks him hard from behind. Taeyong braces himself on the surface, crying out as Doyoung grips bruises into his hip and it’s good, it’s so fucking good.

They don’t talk about it. They never talk about it.

  
  
  


His name is Jungwoo. He’s tall, blonde, and fits Doyoung’s type to a tee. Taeyong is almost positive that they’re fucking.

He only manages to catch glimpses of them here and there, winding through the white halls of his gallery. Tonight’s featured artist had generated a lot of media buzz so Taeyong finds himself flying all over the place, greeting the dealers first and then fielding some of the world’s dumbest questions from reporters who should honestly have their press passes revoked. He’ll have to talk to Johnny about that. 

Halfway through the event, Taeyong finally grows tired enough to shove everything onto his intern’s shoulders (Chenle is smart. He can handle it). He grabs a champagne flute from one of the waiters and downs the whole thing before cornering them in the East wing, while they’re staring at some sad portrait of the ocean. It’s an emotional piece, painted with maybe too many colors, but it will sell for a lot because some famous critic wrote  _ “blue is the new black” _ in one of their latest reviews and now everyone is clobbering to buy anything with a water motif.

Doyoung notices him first. He turns around and smiles, which makes something inside Taeyong shrink. A smile like that used to make him happy. Now it just reminds him of the past.

Doyoung never missed a single one of Taeyong’s gallery showcases. Even after they broke up, he would continue to attend, although sometimes it was just an excuse for him to parade around his date for that night. Those people never lasted long, because Doyoung’s current lifestyle isn’t built for committing to anything longer than dinner and a quick fuck. But still, Taeyong makes him get tested every single time one of those pseudo-relationships ends. They’re rare, but not nonexistent.

“This is Jungwoo,” Doyoung introduces. “My co-worker.”

Taeyong has to mask his surprise. Jungwoo doesn’t look anything like an investment banker, but maybe there’s a fox hiding behind those bright eyes. Taeyong doesn’t really plan on sticking around long enough to find out.

“So nice to meet you,” he says, shaking his hand. “I thought I already met all of Doyoung’s co-workers.”

“You probably have,” Jungwoo smiles. “We just got put onto a new team recently.”

A new team? Did Doyoung switch departments? Although, even if he had, it’s not like Taeyong would’ve had a clue. Doyoung never talks about work, stopped talking about it ages ago when he realized Taeyong was never listening.

“Jungwoo just moved here last month,” Doyoung explains, and Taeyong can tell that he’s growing uncomfortable. “I’ve just been showing him around. Thought I’d bring him here before dinner.”

“How nice of you,” Taeyong comments dryly.

If Jungwoo senses any malice, he doesn’t show it. His demeanor reminds Taeyong of a sunflower, bright and yellow and much too likable to be hanging around someone like Doyoung. It’s clear to him now that Doyoung is hiding something, Taeyong is just trying to decide if he cares enough to dig deeper.

“Well, we‘ve got to get going,” Doyoung says, checking the time on his watch. It’s a steel-plated Audemars, hanging heavy on his wrist. Taeyong remembers giving it to him a week after Doyoung’s first promotion, carefully wrapping the box in pink ribbon only to have it unravel on the floor as Doyoung kissed a thank you into his mouth.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he says, keeping his tone so friendly that anyone who really knows him would know he’s being fake. “Please enjoy the rest of your night.”

“We’ll try,” Jungwoo smiles. “It’s just a team dinner, so we’ll be on our best behavior.”

Taeyong highly doubts that. Doyoung once came home at seven in the morning after their managing director took them to the strip club for closing a big deal. And then the next day, he was back in the office, working until late again. Jungwoo doesn’t look like someone who engages in that sort of behavior but then again, neither does Doyoung.

He leads them to the coat room, which is up in flames with total chaos as guests try to locate their belongings. Jungwoo goes in first, attempting to find his jacket with the assistance of Chenle. Doyoung takes the opportunity to step closely behind Taeyong and whisper in his ear.

“Are you free later?” he asks, his breath pleasantly warm on Taeyong’s neck.

“No,” Taeyong says, his voice coming out clipped. “I’m tired. Please don’t come by.”

Doyoung’s expression stays neutral, like he’s trying so hard not to be phased.

“Alright,” he says. “I won’t.”

  
  
  


Doyoung comes by anyways. Taeyong can’t find it in himself to be surprised, just like he stopped being surprised at himself every time he lets Doyoung back in.

The first time Doyoung left, it took him a week to come back. That was back when they still blatantly cared, convinced that getting back together was the best option. And then it happened again. And again many more times. Their relationship became so on and off that for almost an entire year, Taeyong was never completely sure if they were together or not. And then at some point, finally, they broke up one last time and never turned back.

_ This is it,  _ he thought.  _ This is how we fall apart. _

But Doyoung still came by. And every single time, Taeyong opened the door for him. It’s not for the familiarity or the closeness. Taeyong never cared much for intimacy, although he’s more than fine with the part where they get off together.

It’s because Doyoung became such an integral part of his life that cutting him out would’ve meant losing some of himself too. In many ways, Taeyong has already said goodbye to Doyoung. Of course he still misses him, misses the dinner dates and late night drives. Misses the way he looks at him, overcast under the dark lights. But those memories are long past, faded with time, kept in some forgotten pocket deep in his heart.

What Taeyong hasn’t said goodbye to is himself, or rather, the person he was when he was still with Doyoung. As bitter as he is to admit it, Doyoung made him who he is today, just like how he had done for him. Doyoung taught him how to be strong and what it meant to be weak. What it means to love and also, what it means to hate someone you love.

No, he can’t keep Doyoung. But at least he can keep the part of Doyoung that’s also a part of him.

For some reason, they make it to the bed tonight. Taeyong hasn't slept in a bed with Doyoung in months. The last time this happened was on Doyoung’s birthday, when his co-workers bought out all the tables at some swanky Midtown nightclub, got him so fucked up he couldn’t even walk, and then dropped him off at his “girlfriend's place”, which was really just Taeyong’s new apartment. 

Doyoung slept like the dead that night, barely moving as Taeyong nudged him so he could check that he was still breathing. He finally rose at noon the next day, begrudgingly drinking the water bottle that Taeyong shoved in his face. They fucked in the shower while they waited for Doyoung’s phone to charge in the other room. Then Doyoung unplugged his phone, borrowed a cardigan, and left shortly after. Taeyong muttered  _ happy fucking birthday _ as he locked the door and it was probably the most civil of birthdays they’d spent together in the last couple years.

It looks like Doyoung is feeling particularly generous tonight, peering at him through dark eyes as he deliberately takes Taeyong into his mouth. It’s awful because Taeyong used to love it when they took it slow, those quiet afternoons when his gasps bounced off the walls as sunlight filtered through the blinds. He feels like he’s being burned from inside out, searing as Doyoung grips his waist, and if Taeyong closes his eyes, it almost feels as if Doyoung cares again.

They finish like they always do, wrapped up in each other with nothing between. Taeyong said before that he was tired but he rides Doyoung anyways, exhaustion settling into his thighs as he collapses onto his chest. He stays there a moment, trying to remember when Doyoung got so  _ toned.  _ Since when did Doyoung have time to go to the gym? Certainly not until recently, that’s for sure. Maybe he’s trying to look good for Jungwoo. Maybe Taeyong is just stupid.

Doyoung has a lot of bad habits that Taeyong doesn’t condone but smoking is not one of them. Sometimes, it’s nice to just have one to take off the edge. He opens a window as Doyoung lights one up, the breeze cool on his legs as he settles back into the warmth.

“Don’t get any on the bed,” he says.

Doyoung scoffs at his warning. “We already fucked up the sheets and it’s the ashes you’re complaining about?”

“My sheets are white,” Taeyong mutters. “They’ll leave stains.”

Doyoung sighs in response.

“Fine,” he says. “Do you have a tray?”

Taeyong doesn’t have an ashtray. Doyoung took them all when he moved out. He rummages through his kitchen cabinet and produces a tiny ceramic plate instead. It’s meant for dipping sauce. He likes to use it when he makes dumplings. But whatever. This is fine too.

Doyoung gingerly taps out the ashes, holding the cigarette between two fingers before offering it to Taeyong. He takes it with ease, bringing it to his lips for a taste of burning smoke. It fumes inside his throat and belatedly, Taeyong wonders if they should be smoking a blunt instead.

There’s a crack in the ceiling that he can see from this angle. It starts off quite small and then disappears into the edge of the wall. He should fix it, but Taeyong is no good with ladders. He wonders if they’ll take it out of his security deposit when he leaves. And then he figures that now is as good a time as any to tell Doyoung the truth.

“I got a job offer,” he says, handing the cigarette back. “In California. Anaheim.”

Taeyong can practically sense the moment Doyoung freezes. It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff, peering down the precipice while his heart stutters in his chest. And then, as Doyoung opens his mouth to speak, Taeyong can feel himself jump.

“Are you going to take it?”

Taeyong’s breath quickens.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “I probably will.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches between them. Outside, Taeyong can hear the sounds of the city. A car drives by on the street. Someone is walking their dog. The moon hangs high in the sky.

“Alright,” Doyoung says, infuriatingly calm. “I hope you’re happy over there.”

_ Really? _ Taeyong thinks.  _ That’s all you have to say? _

A part of him knows that he did this to himself. What did he expect Doyoung to say? To tell him not to go? To tell him that he cares? It’s stupid, all that imaginary bullshit he sprouted from his head while daydreaming about a world where maybe, the two of them would have worked out.

But regardless, now that Taeyong has heard what Doyoung has to say, he knows what he needs to do. What he should’ve done before. What  _ they _ should’ve done, all those years ago. It’s just that neither of them were strong enough to do it.

“Doyoung,” he says, voice nearly shaking with the force of his emotions. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

-

When Taeyong was young, there was something he was very scared of. The house he grew up in was very old, with a squeaky staircase and cracks running along the ivory walls. The closet in his bedroom was very big but the door didn’t quite close all the way and at night, when all the lights were turned off, the crack where it stood slightly open was a large sliver of pitch black. And for some reason, it scared the hell out of him.

Maybe he was being over imaginative, or maybe he just liked torturing himself, but Taeyong always thought that there was something hiding in that black space, someone watching him through the crack, staring back at him as he looked into the emptiness. He remembers falling asleep to that emptiness on countless nights, as if staring straight at it would guard him against whatever was in there. The next morning, he’d slowly open the closet door and simply be greeted by the sight of all his shirts and sweaters, ironed neatly in perfect rows just the way his mother liked it.

By now, Taeyong has learned that there are a lot of things out there which are much scarier than the dark space of his closet. Not exactly the definition of things that go bump in the night, but terrifying all the same because they keep him up at night, swirling in his thoughts until he drifts asleep. Even today, as he closes his eyes, Taeyong still sees it, reflected on the expression of someone he so desperately and uselessly loved.

To him, there is nothing in this world quite as scary as Doyoung. He fears Doyoung when he’s happy, for happiness is fleeting and its existence is most acknowledged in the moment of its absence. He fears Doyoung when he’s angry, when his blood turns red hot and there’s nothing preventing him from saying the worst things on his mind. And most of all, Taeyong fears Doyoung when he’s sad, that wistful expression he gets, so sorrowful that you might’ve thought Taeyong was fucking dying or something, not moving across the country.

There’s a despondent look in his eyes, acceptance mixed with defeat mixed with apathy, the worst combination that Taeyong could ever imagine. Doyoung is strong. Doyoung is the strongest person Taeyong knows. And yet, for some reason, he seems to be crumbling before his very eyes.

Taeyong never wanted to make Doyoung feel this way. In all his years, he would’ve done everything in his power to keep that frown off his beautiful face. But Taeyong needs to do this and he needs to be strong, even if—  _ especially _ if Doyoung isn’t.

The world ends like this: not with a bang, but a silence, begging to scream in a voice stolen away by time. And time and time again, Taeyong will remember the moment his heart truly broke, as clean and simple as the stars in the sky.

“Okay,” Doyoung says, stubbing his cigarette out on the tray. “I’ll stop coming by.”

And this time, Taeyong knows he’s not lying.

  
  
  


When he graduated university, Taeyong had allowed himself to feel proud. He gripped the corners of his diploma frame, shaking with excitement as he posed for a picture with Kun, his then roommate who would soon be moving far away because his graduate program was all the way in Seattle. Then Doyoung came and shooed everyone away, pulling him into a long kiss that Yuta definitely took pictures of, probably forgotten at the bottom of his phone storage.

Soon after, Taeyong had learned that his struggle was long from over. He scored an assistant’s position at a famous museum, a coveted opportunity by many, but it paid next to nothing and served solely as a stepping stone for better things to come. He was thankful to have Doyoung back then, whose paycheck covered most of the rent, who always told Taeyong that he shouldn’t dare give up, no matter how hard it got. And Taeyong listened, because Doyoung was the strongest person he knew.

The first time Taeyong realized he really made it was when they told him he needed to hire an assistant. The salary budget they gave him was bigger than the income of his very first job. He almost cried as he filled out the HR paperwork, unbelieving at the fact that they really considered him to be important enough to have an assistant.

Now he has three, plus a cute little intern that remembers his coffee order in the mornings. They’re like his family, so wonderful and nice that perhaps, he’ll miss them even more than those sandwiches at his favorite Brooklyn deli.

“The deli? Really?” Donghyuck scoffs. “Glad to see that I rank above a fucking bagel.”

“Hey, those sandwiches are  _ really _ good,” Taeyong argues. “If you tried one, you’d know how much of an honor this is.”

“I think what he’s trying to say—” Renjun cuts in, slapping Donghyuck on the shoulder, “—is that we’ll miss you a lot too.”

Jeno, who’s packing canvases into a box, pauses his work to contribute as well.

“Do you have to quit now?” he asks. “I know you’re not moving until October.”

“October?” Chenle balks. “That’s in three months. What are you going to do for three whole months?”

That’s a good question. Taeyong thinks about what Johnny said about hobbies. About doing the things he wanted. He hadn’t realized that he didn’t have any until Johnny had asked. And now he’s wondering if he should look for some.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Taeyong responds. “I’ll probably take my time with packing. And then maybe I’ll get into a new hobby or something.”

“Ooh, do art!” Jeno suggests. “I take watercolor workshops on Tuesday. You should come with.”

Taeyong almost laughs, taken aback by his boldness.

“I’ll think about it,” he says. “But you should know, I don’t create art. I just sell it. And those are fundamentally different things.”

Donghyuck snorts. “Just shut up and admit that your paintings are going to be ugly.”

Then he yelps when Renjun slaps his shoulder again, hissing at him to  _ fucking be nice for once, will you? _

Taeyong can only smile at the scene that unfolds before him. He doesn’t know when it got to the point where he lets a bunch of twenty-two year olds bully him like this, but it’s okay because he loves them and he’ll surely come visit after he’s fully settled out west.

He’ll definitely miss them. After all, it’s just one of the many things he’ll miss about this city.

  
  
  


It’s been radio silence on either end for almost a month now and for that, Taeyong is thankful.

To be honest, he didn’t think they could do it. After all, all it would take for either of them was a single text, and then they’d go crawling back to each other, in the most pitiful, unromantic sense of the phrase.

But Doyoung keeps his promise, so Taeyong keeps his too. He cleans his apartment, slowly packs up his things, and finally,  _ finally _ sells the mahogany dining table that he never uses anymore. He even gets around to attending that watercolor class. By the end of it, he realizes that yes, Donghyuck was right, his painting had turned out quite ugly. But he frames it anyways, because if you squint your eyes enough, it looks like an abstract interpretation of a fish, and Taeyong knows that everyone is all about water motifs these days.

He declines Jaehyun’s invitations to go out, because there’s a possibility that Doyoung will be there. He still sees Sicheng quite regularly though, at the weekly book club he decided to join on a whim. It is, to be honest, a little boring and Taeyong kind of hates the book they chose for this week. But it’s fine because doing something is better than doing nothing at all, and it’s not like Taeyong has much else to do these days.

From what he hears, the wedding planning is going beautifully. He’s glad that they’re having it in September, because it means he’ll still be able to attend. On top of the numerous items he plans to get from the registry, his presence will be his last parting gift before fucking off all the way to the other side of the country. It’s perfect, really, because it’ll also be his last chance to say goodbye to all his friends, Doyoung included. Taeyong has never been the type of person to throw himself a going-away party and he isn’t going to start now. Just a simple goodbye would be enough. This is the healthy thing to do. What they should’ve been doing all along. 

The gallery is doing well, though Donghyuck has already taken to grumbling about the new curator in random texts throughout the day. Mark is by no means bad at his job, just a little rough around the edges, and Taeyong knows he’ll soon fill the role beautifully because it’s not in Johnny’s nature to pass the torch to someone unwieldy of its responsibility. Johnny trusts Mark, just like he trusted Taeyong all those years ago, so Taeyong knows he can trust Mark too, even if the kid really does need to stop greeting their clients so casually like  _ hey dude, ‘sup? _ Plus, Donghyuck’s complaining seems to be fueled by something more than just professional rivalry, though Taeyong finds that he doesn’t really want to read into that more than he already has.

There’s a showcase tonight, a big one that Johnny had specifically banned him from attending because  _ you need to take this vacation seriously.  _ Which is something Taeyong won’t argue with because it’s true; the moment he lands in October, Taeyong will hit the ground running and probably won’t stop working himself to death until Johnny forces him on paid leave again. But a showcase is a showcase and Mark has been freaking out all day, which is why Taeyong is completely unsurprised when his phone rings at ten in the evening, right when the event should be wrapping up.

Maybe one of the artists is being difficult. Maybe the press is being stupid. Maybe a waiter spilled champagne all over the floor. It could quite literally be anything, so Taeyong puts down his book and picks up without so much as even looking at the caller ID.

“Hey,” he says, expecting Mark’s flustered babble to come through the speaker. Instead, what he hears is—

“Hello, is this Taeyong?”

He freezes for a second. Taeyong would recognize that pleasant voice anywhere, even if he’s only met him once. Tall, blonde, and undeniably sweet.

_ “Jungwoo?” _ he nearly gasps. “Um— hello. What is this about?”

“I’m really sorry about calling so suddenly,” Jungwoo apologizes, his tone crackling over the line. “You must be so surprised.”

Taeyong is beyond surprised. He also immediately knows that this has to be about Doyoung, because it’s the only thing he has in common with Jungwoo. If not Doyoung, what could this possibly be about?

“Is…Doyoung alright?” he asks, almost afraid because the answer must surely be no.

“Ah, not really,” Jungwoo replies. “But I think he’ll be okay. It’s just that— I think he’s going through something quite difficult, and I’m not sure if I’m qualified? Is that the right word? I don’t think I’m qualified to help him.”

_ Christ,  _ Taeyong thinks. It’s not even midnight.

“Where are you guys?” he asks, already standing up to change out of his night clothes.

“At my apartment. I’ve currently deposited him on my couch, where I’m sure he’ll remain if it’s too late and you want to come get him tomorrow—”

“I’ll come now,” Taeyong says. He swipes his keys off the countertop. “Can you text me your address?”

He hears a sigh of relief over the phone.

“I’m sending it now.”

-

Jungwoo’s apartment is modest, by certain standards. Not that it’s by any means drab, it’s actually quite nice. A doorman greets Taeyong at the entrance and the hallways are long and tall with blue glass overlooking the rest of the city. It’s just that, Taeyong has seen crazier things. Penthouse suites, with windows as tall as the ceilings, crystal chandeliers hanging straight above, with kitchens bigger than they should be and fireplaces in the bedroom. Taeyong’s salary is something he’s quite proud of, but the people Doyoung worked with got paid so much crazy stupid money that it made his own paycheck look like minimum wage. Honestly, everything about Jungwoo just seems too modest.

When Jungwoo lets Taeyong in, Doyoung is draped across the couch, groaning into a trash can of his own vomit. Taeyong briefly wrinkles his nose before apologizing on his behalf.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jungwoo assures, waving it off like it’s nothing. “It didn’t get on my rug or anything. But I just didn’t know who else to call.”

Taeyong wonders if Jungwoo thinks he’s merely Doyoung’s good friend. He doesn’t even want to consider how odd this situation is, standing inside a living room that belongs to his ex-boyfriend’s coworker, contemplating how much their broken relationship was worth being labeled.

“I’ll see if I can get him to sit up,” he says, kneeling down by the couch.

“Alright,” Jungwoo agrees. “I’m going to get some water.”

Doyoung whines when Taeyong brushes the hair out of his face. His eyes are scrunched shut but he opens them just a little, to see who it is.

“Jungwoo?” he asks. His voice is small.

Taeyong smiles as Doyoung tries to refocus his vision.

“Hey, bunny,” he says, the pet name slipping through before he can think about it. “It’s me.”

“Taeyong?”

Doyoung tries to sit up then, albeit too suddenly in his nauseated state.

“Oh my god,” he groans, clutching his head.

“Hey, slow down there. You had too much to drink.” Taeyong gets up to sit on the couch, maneuvering so Doyoung can lay on his legs. It’s a good thing he’s wearing sweatpants, because Doyoung immediately nuzzles into the soft fabric, taking deep, painful breaths.

“Why are you here?” he asks, still curled up around Taeyong’s legs.

“Jungwoo called me,” Taeyong explains.

And even in his current state, Doyoung finds enough energy to scoff.

“Of course he did,” he mutters. “Goddamnit.”

It’s going to be a bit before Doyoung can stand up on his own, but at least he’s talking now. Taeyong sees a trickle of sweat, traveling from the back of his jaw down to his neck. He thinks that cleaning this up is going to take more than a simple shower.

“Doyoung,” he says. “Are you— um, have you been okay?”

“Yes,” Doyoung answers immediately. “I’m alright. You know, I’m just—”

His voice breaks off then, like he’s about to cry. Taeyong strokes his hair, urging him on, because he needs to hear this. They both need to hear it.

And Doyoung, with his head pillowed in Taeyong’s lap, looks up at him, right in the eye, with all the sorrow in the world.

“I’m sorry,” he says, barely hanging on the edge, threatening to fall apart. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.”

_ I love you too. _

“I know,” Taeyong says, bringing a hand to cup his face. “I’m sorry too.”

He looks up and sees Jungwoo, glass of water in his hand with a sad smile on his face.

“What’s your address?” Jungwoo asks quietly. “I’ll call you guys a car.”

  
  
  


Taeyong had briefly considered taking Doyoung back to his own apartment. But at the last second, he fled from that thought and gave the driver Doyoung’s address instead.

Doyoung’s apartment is as big and empty as the last time he visited. The shelves are bare, the furniture is dusty, and Taeyong is relieved to find that there’s at least a filtered water pitcher in the fridge, sitting on the ledge right next to a lemon that’s most definitely expired.

He sits Doyoung down by the toilet, holding his hand while he heaves until there’s nothing more coming out. And then he lays him down in bed, waiting for him to fall asleep. It doesn’t take long, because Doyoung is drained in more ways than one, and finally, leaving just a kiss on his forehead, Taeyong goes home too.

He wakes up the next morning and immediately texts Sicheng, telling him that he’s bailing on today’s book club meeting. He wasn’t able to finish reading last night and besides, its plot was terrible and the characters were simply irredeemable. Taeyong kind of wants to burn the book and ironically, he wishes that he had a fireplace in his bedroom.

He’s making breakfast, busying himself before he has to consider if this is something he’ll ignore or actually talk to Doyoung about, when there’s a knock on his door.

_ Odd,  _ he thinks. This weekend just keeps getting odder.

It’s Jungwoo, looking as fresh and sweet as he did last night. He’s wearing simple clothes, like he’s planning to go to the market later, and in his hands is a large paper bag, it’s contents folded inside.

“Hello— um, please. Come in,” Taeyong says, much too stunned to say anything else.

“Thank you,” Jungwoo says, gingerly stepping inside. Taeyong leads him into the kitchen.

“What brings you here?” he asks, pouring him a glass of water, just to be polite.

Jungwoo accepts it with ease, taking a small sip before holding up the bag.

“Doyoung left some stuff at my place last night. I just came to drop it off. Is he—” Jungwoo peers past Taeyong’s shoulder, where his living room couch appears to be remarkably empty, “—in the bedroom?”

Taeyong scrambles to clarify.

“He’s not here,” he explains. “I ended up taking him back to his place. He’ll probably be asleep for the next couple of hours.”

“Oh, what a shame,” Jungwoo says. “I was looking forward to getting this off my hands.”

He takes the item out of the bag, a large blue cardigan that looks inevitably familiar because, well, it's Taeyong’s. How it came to Doyoung’s possession is beyond him but then he remembers...yes, Doyoung came by on his last birthday. He borrowed this cardigan, one of Taeyong's favorite pieces of clothing, and never bothered to give it back.

“That’s actually, um—” Taeyong says, cringing from how awkward this all is, “—that belongs to me.”

Jungwoo laughs then, a healthy sound that echoes down Taeyong’s hallway.

“That’s funny. I’ll just leave this here with you.”

“Sure,” Taeyong says, mind spluttering because he’s suddenly thinking about how much the cardigan must smell like Doyoung now.

“You can just leave it here,” he continues. “I don’t want to burden you any more than this. Are you, uh— going to the office later? I know how brutal finance can get.”

Jungwoo stops and looks at him with an innocent sort of confusion.

“Taeyong,” he says. “I don’t work in finance.”

_ Huh? _

“I— what?” Taeyong asks.

Jungwoo tilts his head, something Taeyong would’ve found adorable if he wasn’t so perplexed right now.

“I know Doyoung used to,” Jungwoo explains. “But he left the industry like five, maybe six months ago? And then he came to our current company. We started on the same hiring cycle, that’s how we met.”

Taeyong doesn’t know what he’s feeling right now. Maybe like he’s been slapped in the face.

“Jungwoo, what’s your job title?”

“I’m a consultant,” Jungwoo replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “We travel, you know, four days out of the week. I thought that’s why you guys stopped seeing each other. Because the traveling was too much.”

Taeyong runs a hand through his hair, gripping so tight he might tear it out. Traveling four days out of the week? What a fucking joke. That’s nothing compared to the 100-hour weeks that Doyoung would work. Used to work? Taeyong doesn’t even know anymore.

“You know,” he says. “I honestly thought you were an investment banker.”

“Oh, please,” Jungwoo laughs, his face scrunching up in humor. “Does a face like this look like it could survive in banking? I’d probably quit in less than a day.”

“I see,” Taeyong mutters, the cogs turning in his head. They didn’t talk about Doyoung’s work, they never talked about his work, but how did he miss something as big as  _ this? _

As if sensing his distress, Jungwoo decides to give him respite.

“I should probably get going,” he says. “Before all the good produce runs out at the farmers market. And as for this—” he holds up the cardigan, “—Doyoung loves this thing, did you know that? Wears it in the office all the time. I think you should let him keep it a little bit longer.”

Taeyong stares agape as Jungwoon puts it back in the bag.

“Um,” he says, mouth flapping like a fish. “Sure.”

“Anyways, I’ll see you around.” Jungwoo gives him a smile that could light up the whole city. “I know you’re moving and all, but still. I’ll see you around.”

And then Taeyong watches him leave, the door closing shut as he realizes, slowly, that maybe, just maybe, there had been something. There had really been something there this whole time. Not much, but it was something. And he knows, deep in his heart, that something is better than nothing.

  
  
  


Sicheng always loved fall, so Jaehyun gave him an autumn wedding. It’s a marvelous day, the sun dragging out the last of an Indian summer, awarding warmth in the air, so happy and so bright. Taeyong could live forever in days like this. But forever isn’t guaranteed, so he’ll just live in it now.

The wedding is beautiful, and Taeyong knows he’s allowed to say this because he’s built an entire career off of calling things beautiful. It’s not often that such a thing rises to the occasion, makes itself worthy in his eyes, but Taeyong, who has perused thousands of paintings and interpreted a million colors, thinks that he’ll grant it this title because really, truly, it’s all just so beautiful.

Yuta gets up to the podium and shamelessly gives a funny best man speech. It’s not reminiscent or heartfelt or any of those cheesy things people prefer their speeches to be. It’s just funny and that’s it, which is extremely refreshing because Taeyong thought he might suffocate from the atmosphere emitted by the familes’ side of the room. After all, it’s not like ordinary parents could birth people like Jaehyun and Sicheng. The Jungs and the Dongs are charming and unapproachable in equal measure, and Taeyong thought it was funny to see their faces as they watched Yuta crack lame jokes while dropping a couple f-bombs along the way.

But then Yuta delivers the last bit and Taeyong, who absolutely hates waterworks, thinks he might cry just a little.

“I don’t know about you,” he begins. “But I don’t quite remember what Jaehyun was like without Sicheng, or what Sicheng was like without Jaehyun. And it’s none of that bullshit about completing each other— they’re quite complete on their own, don’t you think? After all, I think Sicheng would absolutely kick my ass if I ever insinuated that he wouldn’t survive without Jaehyun—”

That gets a laugh from the crowd.

“—so it’s not about completing each other,” Yuta continues. “It’s about being better together. The best love isn’t one that you need, but one that you want. You want it because you know you’re fine on your own, but this can make you better, and you can make them better too. And I think that these two are better together, for the love that they want and the love they deserve, now and most definitely forever.”

The guests erupt in a flurry of cheers and applause. There’s confetti being thrown, the cake is being cut, and everyone is getting up out of their seats, chattering and singing and heading out to the dance floor. Taeyong sits back and observes, like he always does at these things, watching time pass by, everyone else going while he just stays. It gets lonely sometimes, it really does. But someone takes the seat next to him and suddenly, he’s not watching by himself anymore.

“Doyoung,” he greets, smiling softly because while life is certainly full of surprises, it’s definitely not this spontaneous.

Next to him, Doyoung makes a funny expression. It’s not exactly a smile, but there’s mirth in his eyes, elated and boyish in a way that makes Taeyong think he might fall in love, all over again.

“I have something to tell you,” Doyoung says.

Taeyong knows Doyoung is nervous from the way his hand darts out and straightens the fork on the napkin.  _ How cute,  _ he thinks, because despite the time passing by, they’ve always been the same people, making the same mistakes. It used to make him sad but now, not so much, because Doyoung looks dashing in his tuxedo and Taeyong knows, has always known, that mistakes are capable of being fixed.

“Me too,” he replies. “But I think you should go first.”

Doyoung takes a shallow breath before he speaks, as if taking a deep one would drown his next words.

“I’ve been looking at jobs in California.”

**Author's Note:**

> lol i wrote this in two days while listening to The Weekend on loop, which i think explains a lot about its vibe. it’s not the dotae i said i was gonna write but i wrote it anyways so oops. as always, thank you for reading until the end 💚


End file.
